They found the editor in his office, sitting at his typewriter in his shirt sleeves and busy preparing an article for the paper, this being the eve of publication day.
He was a fat little man; the top of his head being very bald and shiny with a fringe of black hair all around it and two big tufts at his ears, his eyebrows being thick and shaggy and standing straight out from twin caverns.
He held his shoulders high and put his head forward and down, pecking savagely at the keys of the typewriter with the first fingers of both hands very much as a hen pecks at the worms or grain of corn in a dunghill and making the machine rattle at every stroke.
“Busy, Mr. Brooke?” asked Dick. “Want some items?”
“Yes, of course,” said the other, never stopping at his savage attack on the typewriter. “I am doing something about the robbery. Nothing new, I suppose?”
“Why, yes, I think there is,” laughed Dick. “Have you heard——”
“What?” asked the editor sharply, looking up at the two boys. “I’ve heard lots of things and it’s hard to tell just what’s true and what isn’t. What have you got, Percival?”
“Why don’t you use all your fingers on your machine?” asked Jack, before Dick could answer.
“What’s that?” snapped the editor quickly, fixing his eyes on the questioner. “Why don’t I use all my fingers? Because it’s quicker to use two, that’s why.”
“Oh, no it is not,” with a quiet smile. “Let me show you. What is this? Something about the robbery? Let me add a few lines. It is news.”